Valentine's Days
by shadeshark
Summary: After the disgrace of Hellsing, Integra and Seras turn over a few stones and push a few buttons. PG-13 for attempted horror.
1. Exploration

Yes, I know. You hate me. I'm sorry. I was only recently able to write again! I'll update as soon as I can pick up TYDDUP! I haven't forgotten! -flees-  
  
To take it from the top: Hellsing and its characters doesn't belong to me, and this fanfic is written without the knowledge and/or permission of Kouta Hirano.

This thing has been edited three times now because I'm a neanderthal and can't get the hang of the new layout. Sorry about the mess the first chapter was in.

..

You could take the life from a vampire, but you couldn't take the vampire from life.  
  
She could almost hear him telling her what to do, urging her to demand answers and put down all who opposed her.  
  
And it was a great nuisance. Because while she was fighting off some of her more violent instincts, the latest priest or priestess or what-have-you would banish her.  
  
"Thank you!" she called just before the door slammed. She stood, dusting herself off.  
  
The footsteps moving away halted. The door opened just a crack.  
  
"We've no truck with vampires at all," the small woman, who had just thrown Seras into the hall with such force her teeth had rattled, hissed through the crack. "And I don't know anyone who would plaster their work over shields. Vodun isn't a headlong charge." The door slammed.  
  
"I don't suppose I could pass something under the door for your time?" Seras hazarded.  
  
"You might."  
  
Well, there was no sense in blocking the doors that slammed behind her. Seras pulled out her wallet and contributed to the local circle. She left the apartment building and instantly felt better, as though a crushing gravity had suddenly lessened.  
  
The spring in her step owed nothing to her thoughts. Nobody, hmm? And this priestess (well, mambo) was more powerful than most of the folk who'd been tossing her from their homes all through the night. Seras hadn't even been able to enter. The woman's eyes had pierced her and frozen her in the doorway.  
  
She was willing to bet the woman was able to speak for most of her. . . circle.  
  
Seras had done a little research into voodoo before plunging headlong into inquiries. And her research had revealed absolutely nothing about Incognito, which she desperately wanted to know, and less about the shields.  
  
She sighed and retraced her steps. She hadn't asked about Incognito.  
  
"Now what?" asked the woman from the other side of the door. Seras raised an eyebrow. She'd only just raised her hand to knock.  
  
"I've some questions about the. . . sorceror."  
  
"Oh, him." The door banged open. Seras jumped. The woman was standing a foot away.  
  
"I can't even smell you," Seras blurted.  
  
"I worked on some things while you were away. I thought you'd be back. Come as far as you might and close the door."  
  
Seras came in a foot, shuddering—it felt as though hands were pushing against her as she moved—and gently closed the door. The room was dark, and she couldn't see much at all besides the woman. The air smelled strongly of incense. It was almost choking.  
  
"Yes, he had some magic from Africa," the woman said. "I don't know about his backing anyone else. Certainly I don't know about the shields." She flexed strong fingers, as if daring Seras to ask what she did know.  
  
"So. . . that would be it," Seras said carefully. "He sent some of his minions ahead, and he used his craft to back them up?"  
  
"That's the strange thing," the woman said. "Much of what we do now depends on—"she waved her hand, "incense, saints, the very thing that's greater death to you and him."  
  
"If he were old, couldn't he know some of the gods that were before the saints?"  
  
The woman gave her a sharp look that nearly had Seras apologizing, although she wasn't sure what she should apologize for. "Not before the saints. As the saints."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Now, it is possible that he gathered many, many lesser spirits that were glad for blood. But. . ." she seemed to be weighing her words carefully, "Papa Legba doesn't like those who go away from his door. The strong lwa—" Seras took a moment to recognise "loa," the saint-equivalents of her reading-- "tend to dislike your kind." She frowned. "What I think he did is he let a lot of spirits ride in him."  
  
"Possession?"  
  
"That would be a term for it. They could dance with him and feel blood again." Some of the anger seemed to go out of her. "But the letters on the shields—he wouldn't risk those. It's a stupid way to draw our anger. He couldn't fight all of us and your master, too."  
  
"Then who would?"  
  
"I don't know. Someone using magic who wanted to cast doubt on someone else to hide their own activities."  
  
"Oh. I hadn't thought of just covens. Thank you, ma'am."  
  
"Goodbye." She opened the door. Seras hastened out, pushed on her way by a powerful force. Well, at least this time she hadn't found herself nose- first in the carpet. She started down the hallway.  
  
Now she was going to get slammed off her feet by a whole new group of magic- users.  
  
Things had been much simpler before she'd met Alucard. 

..

She wasn't addicted.  
  
Integra tossed the pack of cigars across the desk, refusing to pay attention to the evidence.  
  
She had much more important things to think about just now. . .  
  
For one, she could feel Alucard withering, like an itching sensation in her blood. Cigars only made it worse.  
  
Secondly, Seras wasn't back yet, and she had to get this case together to deliver.  
  
She was out on the street again, although severely demoted—her surviving troops had been handed over to the Redthorns, and she was reduced to the status of investigator while the Round Table debated. And Hellsing was off- limits to her right now while a thorough investigation was done. She and Seras operated out of a small office on the second floor of a law firm.  
  
The attack on Hellsing still had no answers, and since she had been directly involved (and the attack had certainly gotten attention) and had knowledge too valuable to be discarded, she had been designated to find the identity of the brothers who had led the assault. And the Round Table, her seat currently taken, was watching her every move.  
  
She had to do something to get herself some privacy, some space to think, a clear space from those doddering old men that policed her—  
  
Hmm.  
  
Integra tapped her fingernails on the tabletop.  
  
She already had an ace up her sleeve, a token gathered at the first veiled suggestion that she act more womanly to gain a little of the Table's approval. After all, something had to be done. Seras was trailing around smelling like incense and looking almost ghoulish, she herself was frustrated and chained, and Alucard, her most potent weapon, was confined for the time being. And very cranky about it.  
  
Yes, time to throw her metaphorical bomb.  
  
At least things in England were quiet.


	2. Discovery

Same disclaimer, different day. I don't own Hellsing or its characters. Nor do I own Vodun. Oh, and these characters are borrowed without the knowledge (or permission) of Kouta Hirano.  
  
..  
  
"Gas mask girl!"  
  
Seras, trying to remember the difference between a mambo and a mamba, nearly jumped out of her shoes. She hadn't caught so much as a whiff of human, and here some girl was grabbing her shoulder.  
  
"What?" She turned, her expression friendly and ever so slightly guarded, and looked into a bright pair of blue eyes. The woman's face was round, her features sharpened with unfriendly lines, but at the moment she looked happy. Her hair was cropped short.  
  
"Thank goodness. We've been looking everywhere for you. Come on."  
  
"Sorry?" Seras said, towed along at a startling clip in the girl's wake. She was too strong, and a bit too fast. Seras mentally sighed and clenched one hand into a fist. Then she absorbed the "we." "Who?"  
  
"The new Valentines, of course. Remember us from the club?" The girl threw one smile over her shoulder. "What happened to you?"  
  
"Uhh," Seras found it almost impossible to make up a backstory when she'd already been identified as someone else.  
  
"I can't believe it! I was just thinking, how many spiky-haired blonde female vampires can there be in the city! And right when we'd found somewhere else to go, too."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Good move, losing the gas mask." The girl smiled over her shoulder. "A bit too distinctive. Ah, here we are."  
  
It was now "The Lady of the Lake Travel Guides," Seras saw before the girl banged the door open and strode in. Before that, it had been something dark and smelling strongly of leather. Seras, still towed along in the girl's wake, sneezed.  
  
"You never did show up. We were looking for you. Hey, Jasmine, we found the gas mask girl!"  
  
That suggested a good deal of organization. No, it wouldn't be a good idea to just haul out some artillery.  
  
"Hur-rah." The girl stood, some posters under one arm and a riding crop in the other. Her blonde hair hung in two braids. She held up the crop. "You missed one."  
  
"How's the boat prep?"  
  
"Elenore and I visited the owner last night. He was more than happy to give up his share of the boat. Of course, the bi people aren't too happy about this." Jasmine threw the crop into a cardboard box.  
  
Seras blinked. Boat-owning bipartisans? Bisexuals? Bible-owners? Biweekly writers? Bicyclists?  
  
"I did wonder what you looked like under the mask." Jasmine smiled at her. "Pleased to meet you. And now we can finally get out of here."  
  
Sir Integra would want to hear about this. . .  
  
"She's been a little out of it all," said Seras' abductress. "I'm betting she's one of Luke's. He liked blondes more."  
  
"Much is explained." Jasmine rolled her eyes. "What'd he do, put the bite on you when you were drunk? They weren't boys to bother explaining things to the help." She turned, hopping up on a stepstool to unroll a poster. "I'm afraid we simply don't have time to introduce you to everyone tonight. We're leaving soon. I hope you'll come with us?"  
  
"I have to get my things," Seras said, frowning. She didn't miss the vaguely annoyed look Jasmine shot her guide. "I've been getting along, but I can't just vanish."  
  
"Suit yourself. Just be back here tomorrow night." Jasmine was enveloped abruptly in poster as the tape holding the top of the sheet gave out. She cursed, Seras' guide moved to help her, and Seras let herself out.  
  
Fascinating.  
  
She circled the building once, looking at all windows and doors from a distance, and left.  
  
..  
  
Sir Integra was watching for her when she walked up to the office building. And to her surprise, Sir Integra appeared to be wearing something that looked like a very serious dress. It was a simple black jacket and skirt, she realized when she came closer.  
  
"Ah, Seras. You'll need to pack your things," said Sir Integra briskly. "We're leaving England for the time being."  
  
"Why?" asked Seras, alarmed. Surely they weren't going into hiding. For one thing, Sir Integra would already be in custody if something had happened.  
  
"Because I'm pregnant."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"And I'm on what could be called maternity leave. I'm being packed out of the way while the Round Table bickers among itself and feels sure that I'm out of harm's way. Or notoriety's way. Whichever comes first."  
  
"Er, when. . ."  
  
"Two weeks ago. I only announced it today." Sir Integra cupped her chin in her hands.  
  
The worry line between her eyebrows told Seras that this was more of a problem than her director wanted to say.  
  
"I've just found a possible lead. There are a pair of female vampires that say they're a part of a group. And they're heading out of England soon."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I was mistaken for someone else. I couldn't ask many questions for fear that the person I'm supposed to be already knows the answers. I thought it best to play along until I'd spoken with you."  
  
"You're probably right." Integra slapped her hip, looking for a slacks pocket containing cigars, and then remembered she was wearing a skirt. "Do you know who they were?"  
  
"They called themselves the New Valentines. One girl was named Jasmine. She acted like she gave most of the orders. She also mentioned an "Elenore." Seras frowned. "We didn't kill a spiky-haired blonde FREAK in a gas mask, did we?"  
  
"You'll have to check the—"Integra fell silent. Their files containing the profiles of FREAKs eliminated by Hellsing was still in confiscation. "I'm afraid I can't tell you." She frowned. "Jasmine Valentine. Sounds like a stripper. Can you describe her?"  
  
"About my height, pale blonde hair in braids, probably about this long loose," she tapped her shoulder, "slender face, good bones. She's young, attractive, probably didn't smoke."  
  
"Wonderful," said Integra. "I get to spend the next two hours looking for young blonde attractive strippers. The Round Table will be overjoyed at my womanly behavior. She didn't have any tattoos, did she? Or a useful scar?"  
  
"She said 'hurrah' and had a faintly American accent." Seras coughed. "They want me to go back tomorrow night and leave with them."  
  
Sir Integra's brows drew closer together. "Really. I don't suppose you've learned to transform into a cloud of bats?"  
  
"Master said that it was about as easy as transforming into a cloud of bats. I'll have to try."  
  
"Because I'm going to be travelling by ocean liner." Sir Integra glowered. "And I'll be leaving at seven-thirty."  
  
"Oh. Not good. What's the name of your ship?"  
  
"The 'Sea Queen.' Vastly pretentious."  
  
"I don't know what theirs is. They said-"Seras decided that she did not want to explain her bionic-people theory she'd come up with on the way home, "nothing useful about the name."  
  
"Hmm. Far too easy that we'll be on the same ship." Sir Integra now had tension in her shoulders, and Seras knew she was thinking of Walter's ability to smuggle artillery with luggage. "You're going to have to learn to turn into a cloud of bats very quickly, I'm afraid."  
  
"All right." Seras moved towards the kitchenette and the stocked fridge.  
  
During the next two hours, Seras turned into interesting variations on the theme of "ooze."  
  
"You are thinking of flight, correct?" said Integra, who had her stony "I don't need to throw up, who, me? Never" face on.  
  
"I'm trying," said Seras, closing her eyes and melting into the carpet like a candle in a fire. Sir Integra looked away.  
  
"I'll be assuming a new identity," she said, as the messy pile on the carpet abruptly shot towards the ceiling and splattered loudly. "I'm not quite going into hiding, but I'm going out of the men's way. They're very particular about it." She nodded critically. "I think you're getting into the separation thing. I'm fairly sure I saw light through you that time."  
  
Seras reformed on the carpet. "It's not easy!"  
  
"I don't doubt it." Sir Integra watched Seras blow some hair away from her face, frown at her feet, and abruptly turn into something bulky, hairy, and entirely unsuited for flight.  
  
"Close," Integra said, casually grabbing the leg of the coffee table just in case Seras had just lost track of her nature. "Get some more blood and try again."  
  
Seras staggered for a moment and reappeared holding her head. "That was most uncomfortable."  
  
"I wonder if we can get a helicopter to swing around and pick you up—no, I'm thinking like a commander again." Integra's expression was carefully formed to hide pain. Seras, in a rapid attempt to spare them both, turned into a column of bats fused together and fell onto the coffee table.  
  
"Close. Very close."  
  
"Can you get a delay in your departure?" Seras asked, re-forming herself with caution. "And what have I done to my clothes?"  
  
"Looks like you've fused them all together," Integra said. "Fascinating."  
  
Seras growled and spat out a button. "This is not convenient."  
  
"I tried. The Round Table doesn't want anyone to think of them as unchivalrous; they're bundling me out of harm's way immediately." Integra sighed.  
  
"Is that why you're wearing a skirt?"  
  
"Something like. I wanted to be. . . harder to recognise." Integra shrugged at Seras' skeptical look. "You managed the same thing in fifteen minutes. Perhaps I should borrow your wardrobe."  
  
"Oh, funny." Seras growled and tried once more. A bat spiky with at least sixteen pairs of wings fell onto the carpet. She reformed. "Do we have a crowbar?"  
  
"I'm afraid there's no help for it," Integra said, shrugging. "I'll have to go without you and let you catch up."  
  
"Walter wouldn't-"Seras stopped, not in time. The cheerful mood died instantly.  
  
"Walter is serving elsewhere," Integra said, hoping that he wasn't locked up somewhere. "I'm running out of time, Seras. I want to get this 'Valentine' girl, or group, reported and at least the basics of where she came from squared away." She walked to the window. "It's going to be a very sunny day and you're already tired. I'd suggest you stay in."  
  
"Right. Could I pack your things while you're busy?"  
  
"I've been prepared for this for weeks." Integra cast a smile over her shoulder. "But thank you."  
  
"No problem." Seras headed for the next room. "I hope they have a spare coffin I could use."  
  
Integra watched her go, shaking her head. She was going to miss Seras.  
  
Now, how could she pack the pistol? Could it go under the hair-curling set? There were a lot of metal pins in those. . . 


	3. Underway

Still disclaimed, still not mine, and Kouta Hirano, bless her, still doesn't know I'm writing Hellsing fanfiction. Er, not that she'd care.  
  
..  
  
Seras woke up with a jolt of anxiety.  
  
She sat up, pushing her hair away from her face. By the empty feel of the apartment, Sir Integra had already gone. She checked the time, packed some things in a small bag, and started out.  
  
She didn't have much trouble finding the shop. A sign hung in the door reading "CLOSED" in neat lettering, but it opened when she pushed it.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
She stepped inside. The door swung shut behind her.  
  
"Well, well, well. What have we here?" purred a voice from above.  
  
The fine hairs on the back of Seras' neck rose, and she swung around angrily.  
  
"Oh! I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you yet!" The girl wore shorts, a pink shirt, and a rather silly-looking nautical hat with a silver anchor on it. She crossed from a ceiling beam to in front of the plaster wall, where she wouldn't be seen from the street, and dropped down. "My word, you're good at handling sunlight. I break out in blisters when I get close."  
  
"I think it was daytime when I got turned," Seras chirped, trying to sound not at all dangerous. "That probably changed things."  
  
"You're the gas mask girl, of course, and I'm Belita."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"Sara," said Seras firmly.  
  
"I thought that was it." The girl gave her a friendly smile. "I tried to talk to you once, but it was hard with that mask on your face and it was always noisy. Why did you wear it?"  
  
Seras made a calculated gamble. "Luke wanted it to lend atmosphere to the club."  
  
"That English boarding-school reject." Belita sniffed.  
  
Seras was busy making a running tally. Jasmine. . . the girl who'd grabbed her. . . Elenore, and now Belita. . . she felt she should have some sort of score card for this.  
  
"Can you give me an idea who else is here? I met Jasmine, of course—"  
  
"We're all here but Christine. Oh, and I'm a more," she coughed, "recent addition. Yan's, the night before they went and got themselves killed."  
  
"What happened to Christine?"  
  
"They sacrificed her." Belita's lip curled in an unbecoming snarl. "You missed the whole thing? You must have been made the evening I was. I liked Christine. She was friendly. She actually told me what was going on while those idiot men were still dropping hints. And they threw her to the wolves."  
  
Seras now put two and two together. There were only so many groups of two men that left a female FREAK for someone to kill.  
  
"That's terrible," she said, inwardly dancing about the room with elation. Now to find a way to go back and tell—oops. Now to find someone to report to.  
  
Hmm. This wasn't going to be easy.  
  
"I got you a hat," Belita said, fishing through a cardboard box (Seras wondered if the riding crop was somewhere in there) and coming up with another silly-looking nautical hat and some folded blue clothing. "This is yours."  
  
"For?"  
  
Belita smiled. "A woman's work is never done. We wanted to save on the crew's pay, right?"  
  
"Right," said Seras, returning her smile, and trying not to shudder.  
  
"Same old, same old." Belita moved past her to lock the door. "The rest of my uniform's in the back room; I'll be there changing if you have any more questions."  
  
"Right," said Seras, looking around. After a moment's hesitation, she moved to a door, opened it, and found a very empty, clean closet. She turned on the light, stepped inside, and unfolded the blouse. It looked a little too small, but still smart, and the patch over the left breast—  
  
She turned it to the light.  
  
"Sea Queen."  
  
..  
  
Integra stared around the cabin.  
  
Not too bad. Considering the twee silver anchors decorating the luggage handler's apparel, she had been braced for a picture of teddy bear sailors.  
  
The room was large pleasant, and well ventilated. She looked at the air vents and a few thin, red ribbons showing which way the air was flowing and how strong it was. The décor was cream and silver, which she could have lived without, but someone with a good deal of restraint in the use of ruffles had decorated. It served well enough. The portholes were large enough to shed good light. She investigated one, but it didn't seem to have an opening mechanism. She tested the door, from force of habit, and found it solid (but not solid enough to resist an angry FREAK.) She found the ventilation controls and flipped them shut. They didn't entirely close, but she didn't think anyone would be trying to gas her.  
  
She opened her suitcase and put the gas mask on the bedside table. Just in case of very obvious attack.  
  
The bathroom was serviceable and made a good attempt to communicate luxury with comparatively small size. She glanced around. The air conditioning was less here. She flipped the light off and pulled the door shut. This door was of less substantial thickness than the one to the corridor.  
  
Well, if FREAKs managed to drop out of the sky on the ship, she'd just have to be sure she wasn't in the bathroom. She smiled a little at her caution. She started unpacking the things she would need.  
  
She'd gotten a rushed escort onto the ship, and was trusted enough so that nobody had done obtrusive metal detecting around her. She unpacked the box of hair curlers with a wry smile. They certainly did want to get rid of her.  
  
Alucard was feeling. . . sad, and for a moment she wondered why. Then she laughed at herself. He was packed off in a room to starve into mummification. Why wouldn't he be sad? She refrained from prying.  
  
She picked up her reading material and settled back in her chair. To her surprise, she'd found a few gaps in her education, beginning with Chinese Hopping Vampires and ending with Vodun. She'd have to finish those off so that the next attack would not find her unprepared.  
  
She glanced at her watch. They wouldn't be leaving for some time yet, and she didn't want to miss dinner, not when she had a new identity to establish. She'd need some practice.  
  
She yawned, mentally going over her checklist. Anti-nausea medication just in case, healthy fruit and vegetable snacks, water bottles—being pregnant was a nuisance.  
  
There was a knock on the door. She checked through the peephole, found a worried-looking man about the height of her shoulder, and opened the door.  
  
"Oh, no," he said, looking at her. "Is this room B212e?"  
  
The ship did have a rather confusing layout. Integra had never been on a ship with a deck split into A and B.  
  
"Dear, we're a hallway to port wrong," said the man's wife, who had spread the ship's map out on her husband's back.  
  
"I'm afraid I couldn't tell you," said Integra, who had followed three luggage bearers straight to her room.  
  
"We got turned around somewhere," said the man, picking up two suitcases again. His very pregnant wife smiled at Integra. "We'll see you around."  
  
Integra smiled back and closed the door, flipping the deadbolt again. She wondered with a twinge of anxiety if she would get that big.  
  
She glanced around the room again.  
  
She was lonely, to her surprise. She wondered how Walter was doing. She knew how Alucard felt. And she couldn't do anything about Seras—the vampire was on her own until she could join Integra in peaceful exile.  
  
A faint tremor passed through the ship as the engines kicked up and the ship started on its way.  
  
About time. Integra put a bookmark between the pages she was reading and checked her watch again.

..

Seras watched the crew members leave the boat. Some remained. Seras looked them over carefully and decided they were most likely vampires or on their way to being them. She heard a variety of accents as they spoke among each other.  
  
Wait. That girl wasn't a vampire.  
  
Seras tried to hide her curiosity. The girl was probably an islander. She looked exotic, brown-skinned and straight-haired. To her surprise, Seras saw several more. From their easy banter, it sounded as though they knew their crewmates were unusually strong.  
  
"The day shift," Belita said from behind Seras. "Not all of us have your ease of movement when the sun's out."  
  
"I—is everyone on the ship a—"  
  
"Certainly not." Belita sniffed. "Some people are using this as a cruise; they get down to the islands and hop from island to island with the ship. Some people are staying on that first island, though." She stretched, smiling.  
  
"Oh. So that's our stop?"  
  
"Mm-hmm."  
  
"So what do we. . ."  
  
"Here, follow me." Belita started through a small door and down a mystifying labyrinth of corridors to a long row of freezers and two motel- sized refrigerators. "At the end of your shift," she swung open the refrigerator, "grab some blood and pull some from the freezer to thaw in its place."  
  
Seras looked at the plastic bags curiously. "They're not labeled."  
  
"That's because we draw our own. We don't steal medical blood."  
  
Seras nodded, resisting the urge to plant her boot in the vampire's face and stomp her to ashes. Now her primary concern was to find Integra. Once the other vampires were aware that a preternaturally strong and fast creature was killing them, they'd close ranks immediately.  
  
"One more thing," Belita said. "We have a rule. The Valentines don't kill the pregnant women."  
  
Oh, good. Sir Integra would be all right, then. 


	4. Suspicion

Disclaimer! Hellsing isn't mine. And I'm using these characters of Kouta Hirano's without permission. And I'm shamelessly playing mix'n'match with vampire mythology and abusing architecture to suit my plot.  
  
Kouta's a GUY? I am speechless. Which is good, because you're here for the fic.  
  
..  
  
With the ship underway, Sir Integra was content to change, pray, and collapse into bed.  
  
She dreamed, blissfully drifting from the facts of her exile.  
  
"Integra?"  
  
Her dream faded to a barren landscape.  
  
"Integra."  
  
She looked around, groping for her perspective as she would for her eyeglasses. Let's see, Hellsing disgraced and Alucard withering away. . .  
  
"Integra!" He came into focus, all stress and fangs and red.  
  
"You realize you're a mummy in a basement and I'm busy," she told Alucard crisply.  
  
"No, you're not!" He looked shaken, as he had during that business with the Sidhe woman, his hat and glasses gone and expression wild. "You need to wake up!"  
  
"Nonsense," she said in her dream. "I'm sleeping."  
  
The world fell away from beneath her feet and Alucard lunged at her, snarling like a fiend from the pit, as she began her fall—  
  
She woke with a convulsive jerk, throwing the blankets away, and sat up.  
  
Across the room, barely visible, a face stared at her through the ventilation grille.  
  
..  
  
"I'm not crazy!" she snarled. "I want to see the captain now!"  
  
"Look, lady, all I know is, you saw a face that left immediately. And you didn't have your glasses on so you can't tell me exactly how it disappeared. That does not exactly build the ol' confidence."  
  
Integra paused to regroup. At least she had left her gun hidden in her cabin.  
  
"Kindly let me see someone in authority," she said, her voice shaking only a little with rage.  
  
"Perhaps I could be of help?"  
  
They both turned abruptly to look at him. He jumped a little. He had the look of a person that other people tend to blame for things. He wore a simple black suit. Nothing about him was particularly memorable beyond his worried expression.  
  
"I don't know," said Integra, as kindly as possible, "but if you have a suggestion, I'd like to hear it."  
  
"Well, I. . . excuse me. This would work better if you came and looked at the blueprints."  
  
The man who'd been standing in Integra's way looked away, sighing in what sounded like disgust. "Oh, you."  
  
"Certainly," said Integra, and followed him.  
  
"You see," he said, when he'd led her into a smaller room down the hall and shut the door, "frankly, the noise in the vents gets pretty creepy at times."  
  
"Noise?" asked Integra, expecting an answer.  
  
"I thought it sounded like scrapings. I have a room close to the main ventwork, so I hear all the sounds, amplified." He shot her a darting look. "Now I think it's just metal moving in the air."  
  
"What does this have to do with—"  
  
"Sorry. I'm getting there." He spread out a roll of the ugliest graph paper Integra had ever seen. "When I first came on board, the vents worried me. To the point I checked if anyone could fit in them. See, this is the ventilation system for A deck."  
  
"Yes?" Integra took in the winding vents. "Oh. You're right. I couldn't have done those turns as a child."  
  
"You might be able to stretch your upper body around some of these turns, but you'd never be able to bend your knees enough to go through. Especially here," he pointed, "where the vent turns into a sort of accordion tube to fit around the light fixtures."  
  
"Someone couldn't move the. . . loose accordion enough?"  
  
"Not without kicking through it or simply falling through it. It's not meant to hold weight. And if they struggled too hard trying to get through, see, this is where the light fixture is attached. They'd knock the lights out for sure."  
  
Integra studied the vents, trying to see one straight shot from one room to the other. "Why do they wind so much from room to room?"  
  
"Because otherwise, you'd get cigar smoke from the next room over. There's a grille for each of these on the wall of the outside deck."  
  
"Oh." Integra followed the vent with one finger. "I see."  
  
"Yeah." He glanced at her. "I've never seen anything in there." It was almost a question.  
  
"I was having a rather frightening dream," Integra murmured, trying to back down from the point where she felt like an idiot and pick up again.  
  
"I'm glad I could help." He smiled. "Good night, miss."  
  
"Good night." Integra smiled back and headed to her room again.  
  
She looked at the vent.  
  
It showed no signs of looking back.  
  
She picked up her forgotten book and began reading.  
  
She thought she heard footsteps in the hallway. Now her senses were so tuned she could hear footsteps on carpeting through a solid door? Ridiculous. She concentrated on the words she was reading.  
  
There was a soft knock on the door.  
  
Integra growled.  
  
The knock repeated, a little more quickly.  
  
"This had better be good," she snarled, putting her book down and crossing the room to the door. She checked the peephole.  
  
Seras looked back at her, eyes unnaturally huge from glass distortion.  
  
Integra opened the door and looked at her doubtfully.  
  
"I'm afraid it's not very good," Seras said softly. "Can I come in?"  
  
"Password?" Integra asked.  
  
"Uh, what password?"  
  
"Good." Integra stepped back to let the vampire in and closed the door behind her. "What are you doing here? Was turning into a cloud of bats that easy?"  
  
"That would be the problem," Seras said. "I didn't go anywhere."  
  
"Oh, God help us," Integra glanced at the clock to check the time. "Any hostile intent?"  
  
"Not yet, that I know of. They've got a stock of blood. I don't know if they intend to supplement it."  
  
"Will you be missed?"  
  
"Yes, if I stay for long."  
  
"Do they know how active you are during the day?"  
  
"They might be out too. The decks are enclosed and dark."  
  
"Right. Tomorrow afternoon near the tennis court."  
  
"Uh, they have a day shift."  
  
"Suggest a time."  
  
"Near the Captain's rooms. There's an unused one. Three hours to sunset."  
  
"Right. Three doors down from the Captain's quarters?"  
  
"Precisely."  
  
"Very well."  
  
Seras stepped into the hallway, then ducked back in, pulling the door with her.  
  
"Problem?" Integra asked softly.  
  
"Just a steward. I'll wait til he's gone."  
  
Integra strangled the urge to look out in the hallway too. This led to strangling the urge to quiz Seras. The vampire slipped into the hallway. Integra put the locks on after her. She turned, rolling against the solid wood, and studied the still room.  
  
Moving the gun to her bed was not a good idea. Bad things happened when half-asleep women grabbed for firearms.  
  
She found herself laying a hand over her stomach. She dropped it, reminding herself she wouldn't feel anything for weeks. Months, perhaps.  
  
The air conditioning whirred.  
  
She crossed to the vent, took off her necklace, and hung it in front of the vent. She returned to her chair and book.  
  
The gold cross swung in the breeze. 


	5. Day Shift

Remember me? You hate me. Yes. I know. I apologize as many times as you deserve. I'm sort of back; anyway, it's time I took this FREAK fic down. Anyone got a depleted uranium shell?

Disclaimer stickergoes here!I don't own Hellsing or any characters; I don't have anyone's permission to use these characters or setting, and I don't get any income out of this.

She became dimly aware that she was not only tired, with the bleary exhaustion of insufficient sleep, but sore.

Integra shot a glance across to the porthole. Weak attempts at daylight filtered into the room. She pulled herself out of the chair, wincing as she stretched. Of all the idiotic places to fall asleep.

Breakfast wasn't for. . . she picked her watch up off the bedside table. . . another hour. She stretched again, flexing her fingers. Well, she might as well go find out if the breakfast room was at least open.

She was encouraged by the smell of coffee as she went down the hall and found the small room off the dining hall. Pastries sat out in open cartons by containers of coffee and hot water. Close enough. She collected tea and an apple and sat with her back to one wall, trying to ignore the pop music filtering over the sound system. Evidently someone thought the hour was early enough to get away with it. She was too tired to bother complaining. Although once she'd had her tea--

"Well, hello again."

She glanced up, catching the sympathetic expression of the pregnant woman who had come by lost the previous day. She took in sparse makeup, messy hair, and a simple dress. Not a likely agent, even without the woman's bulk. She allowed herself a cautious glance about to see if the husband was in the area. No.

"Thought I should get down here early to escape the patters." She said the last two words in the sort of overly loud whisper that overly concerned parents use to express the fears of their children. Integra tried to look as though she had some degree of understanding without committing to sympathy. Then she realized that a woman prone to admitting her fears might also describe morning sickness in far too much detail. She dunked her teabag into her silly styrofoam cup, trying to pick out an escape route.

"I'll just leave my purse here. You'll watch it, won't you?" Integra nodded, remembering this part of the ritual from her experience with the school system. She watched the woman go to the table as she sugared her coffee.

Some days, once or twice, while handling the day's paperwork, or supervising a drill, or speaking to the troops, or debating once again if they should be using shotguns or rifles, she'd wanted to be an anonymous traveller to foreign lands.

Another boy band took the place of the previous one. The only obvious change was in the angst level. Integra rolled her eyes, both at her former attitude and the lyrics. She rubbed her temples as she sipped her tea. The sensation of eyes on her distracted her from her headache. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. That sensation triggered the first tingle of adrenaline as her brain automatically mapped nearby potential weapons and escape routes. She'd never really needed escape routes before. She felt naked without a gun at hand.

She remained cool, letting her gaze skim the room without resting. Her pregnant ally stood with her back to Integra's half of the room, debating over whether or not she wanted a gooey chocolate doughnut. A man was getting coffee, half turned towards her. There. A girl, a stewardess. As expected. She was very dark-skinned, with long, straight black hair and a round face. She was watching Integra. There was something hungry in her eyes. Integra resisted the urge to touch the crucifix around her neck.

The crewmate turned back to her work, refilling the coffee and slipping out. "So how do you like sea travel so far?" Integra's new friend resumed her seat. "Oh, we don't know names yet! I'm Melody Westhaven. I'm a schoolteacher." Westhaven giggled as though there were some sort of humor to this announcement. "All my friends say I'm a natural for el ed."

"Amanda Wingates." She was proud of her lack of hesitation. "El ed? Sorry?"

"Elementary education. This is my first baby, and I've already got his room painted, and his books, and toys, and everything!"

Integra felt her eyebrows pull together. Should she have toys yet? No. No need to get carried away. She had months before she needed those. She heard the woman continue, with a few digressions into how this was her first trip besides the honeymoon. Integra enjoyed the company, but she also had a tolerance level for chatter. They were rapidly approaching it. She kept Westhaven going while she glanced around the room again. Only a few people were present. But, there. Another crewmate, looking her way. . . no, watching Melody. He was much less obtrusive than the girl, but Integra was quite good at picking out predators. She was also better at pretending not to be watching. He left soon, and Integra relaxed fractionally, watching the door for further events.

The room started to fill up as Westhaven began to exhaust Integra's last reserves of patience. Several more crew members arrived on the scene, although these all appeared fully involved in their work. Deciding action was better than watching for another slip, Integra excused herself.

She went up on deck, hoping that the sunlight would be her ally. Chipped vampires had a low tolerance for the varied radiation of sunbeams. She checked that her hat wouldn't blow away and stood leaning against the railing, watching people go by. A dismal dawn was attempting to reform itself into proper day. The morning mist was fading rapidly. Integra watched one last seagull, far at sea on some mysterious errand, skim by towards land. People began to wander by, talking in groups, taking pictures (Integra took a step to the side and turned her face away) and otherwise disturbing the morning's tranquility.

She was still pondering while the girl who'd been watching her came up for a cigarette break. First she walked through the patch of sunlight between her and her friends. Then Integra watched as she relaxed slowly. Hmm. Hopefully, what she was seeing was the lingering psychological effects of a smoke break. Otherwise, her instincts were entirely wrong and the girl wasn't a chipped vampire at all. The girl flicked her cigarette butt overboard and headed back belowdecks. Integra's gaze followed her back through the patch of sunlight.

Damn. Damn. Hopefully Seras would have some answers (very advanced sunblock?) She waited until more people were circulating, and went along one of the larger hallways back to her room. She got in some more reading before she decided she might as well wait for Seras while she read. She strode from her room and down the hallway. The secret to get away with something she shouldn't be doing was to act as though she should be doing it. She knocked before she tried the knob. Seras opened it a moment later with an expression of relief.

"They're everywhere!" she hissed.

"Yes, I've noticed," Integra said, glancing over the room as she closed and locked the door. It was small and simple, just a few steps away from being a closet. The only noticeable furnishings were a table and a cabinet. The cabinet stood open. She crossed the room and closed it. The air was musty. She reached up for the air vent's cover, hesitated, and left it closed. "Do you have backgrounds?"

Seras kept her voice low, too. "Some. Belita's a talker. Only she doesn't talk about the day shift. I'm not even sure they're undead."

"They're hunters," Integra said, startling herself with her conviction. "What have you learned?"

"They were all brought in by Yan and Luke. You'll remember Yan. Luke was planning something else with them, but practicality took over. Someone hadto help hide and maintain the ghoul army. The two couldn't control the ghouls very well until that last battle."

"Where were the girls while we were killing the brothers?"

"It sounds like they pushed off the battle and regrouped when the two were dead. They weren't in the castle. Master would never have let them go."

"True." Integra still could happily have locked him in the basement again for not going after them when they were in the vicinity of the castle, but she supposed they didn't offer sufficient drama. "Have they made any other vampires? More to the point, are ghouls anywhere on board?"

"No, and no. From what I've heard, they can't afford 'distractions.' And this ship is too small to hide an undead army. I checked. You know they had me sleeping in a travel trunk?" Oblivious to Integra's expression, she finally got to what she'd been thinking. "How are we going to handle this? You've only got one gun.I've got the heavy artillery you can't use, but I stillcan't kill everyone without causing panic aboard the ship. Not to mention I can't do all the stewardessing alone."

"Miss Victoria, you're thinking the wrong way. You believe it's coincidence that I got packed away on a ship full of them?"

"Oh. Oh!" Seras frowned. "You're right. I was so busy thinking like Wa- a bodyguard I didn't consider that. So, how are we going to handle this?"

"We don't have to act decisively quite yet. They believe they've got me. Do you believe anyone's onto you?"

"No. . ." Seras was obviously thinking in terms of comparison now. "How well do you think they were briefed?"

"Possibly, they weren't warned about this at all. In that case, I'm simply a traveller, without companions or friends, and therefore a good target. That would be the simplest course; just put me on a ship full of undead, send you on another mission, and wait."

"No. . . the Valentines won't kill the pregnant women, but your departure was set because you announced you were pregnant. So unless someone's had contact with the Valentine girls to tell them about you, you're safe. It's careless to put you on a ship packed with us and just expect the odds to get you. Especially considering your experience."

Integra closed her eyes, putting together all the information she had so far. She came up with a sort ofpatchwork that didn't represent a devious plan as much as it did an attention-deficit risktaker. Nobody on the Round Table fit that description.

"Well, if they're onto you, they're onto me." Seras jumped off her train of thought and folded her hands. "I'll quit sleeping unless I've oozed into somewhere hidden. And we should go secure your room, next."

"You're right. We can't start killing everyone." Integra frowned. "We've got our experience and our knowledge as our allies. I'll stay armed, you'll stay ready, and we'll find out who messes up first."


End file.
